Thorin's Company and I
by Maiden-of-Middle-Earth
Summary: The author makes up her mind to go live in the wilderness, away from all civilized life. But is this just her sudden whim or a long-planned move of destiny? Who are these strange folk she stumbles upon? I own none of the characters that are obviously taken from Tolkien's creations. Basically, I own just myself.
1. Chapter 1

I've decided

That's it. I have decided. I am going into the wild.

Enough of the smoke and soot and choking fumes of the city. Enough of the howling and hullabaloo of a teeming brood of two-legged revellers. Enough of the deafening clangour of the grinding and gnashing metal monstrosities.

I'm off.

Now stop right there. Let us not be hasty. Let us not scurry and scamper around like a crazy mouse.

Do you know who you sound like? You sound like that Ent, Treebeard! Oh, and that makes my heart run off to the wilderness again...

Okay, I got you... you are this harebrained child who has suddenly decided that the civilized world of human beings has nothing more to offer you. Well, let me tell you, you are very much mistaken. Here is your life, and your family, and your work, and you will stay right here. STAY PUT!

Yeah? You think you can make me stay with all that glaring and glowering and glorious speech about the graciousness of the human race? About how what they did was not defiling and desecrating Nature, how some of them are not these greedy little creatures baring their filthy yellow fangs in a leering grin as they go about hunting down poor hapless animals that have done them no harm? Surely, even you cannot justify their vile deeds with that skilled tongue of yours?

Uh, well... you see... uh...

There! Got you! Really, it is such a joy to see you for once bereft of your carefully articulated speech.

Now, who are you admonishing? I am just a part of you, and I am just trying to convince this other, absolutely insane part to see some reason!

Oh yes, you are most certainly a part of me. Just not the part that I shall allow to take over right now. For the mad mad part of me is so much better!

I make plans

Okay, I admit that I have sounded absolutely like a very obdurate and insufferable child who has been beset with a whim to run off and live in the wild. Well, I am not that bad, as you will (hopefully) find out as you continue on this journey with me. And I am not that hasty either. For I have made plans. I have been planning this for a long time now. Secretly, lest that other, disgustingly logical and disquietingly reasonable part of me, start to protest.

I know I ought not to run away. I am indeed engaged in a very important work, one that I am very passionate about. But to pursue that, I need not just stay confined to a grey, urban world.

I also have a family, one that is very close to me. But once again, I can always visit them from time to time. Besides, my parents and my grandmother are very well aware of this streak of madness (if you must call it that) which runs through my addled brain. "Too much fantasy and fairytales", as my Baba would often say, with many a sigh and a dejected nod. Well, who bought me the books?

Not to mention, if I refuse to listen to this inner self of mine, and keep suppressing this desire, then one day it would most likely erupt like an angry volcano and the inferno will overwhelm me anyway.

Plus, maybe I can help the animals and the trees! Maybe, I could help in conserving them and making them flourish! What of that?

There, I believe I have convinced you that I am not a ludicrous lunatic who doesn't realize what's good for her. If I haven't convinced you, read on nevertheless, and you shall soon discover how true this decision would prove for me. And if you are altogether so utterly repelled by my character (already), then by all means, wrinkle your nose and let out a string of curses and pretend that I no longer live (since a dead person is less likely to bother anyone than a living one), but by all means, hold on to your cosy little armchairs and read on, and how I would savour the looks on your dumbfounded faces as you discover how wrong you all have been, at the end of the road!

Now, let the journey begin!

So, I have been thinking, thinking, thinking... where to begin? Should I just drop out of nowhere in the midst of a deep, dark, dense forest full of mighty elm and oak and hickory, and without hardly a ray of light trickling in through the foliage? With snarling, drooling, and ravenous carnivores prowling the forest floor?

Oh no, that won't go down very well at all, especially for such an inexperienced and completely reckless, partly doltish, novice like myself. Baby steps... as somebody very dear to me has been telling me for years now. Baby steps will take me much farther, and possibly not result in my ending up in the breakfast porridge for a particularly vicious jaguar or some such, rather tragic, demise.

So, my best chance would be to begin this self-imposed, solitary life right in the gentle embrace of Nature's arms, in a national park. It's much more accessible to begin with, what with a number of trails and even enthusiastic hikers and adventure-seeking explorers who are often glimpsed in these reserves.

But then again, am I not running away from human settlements? Shouldn't that mean I do not wish to encounter too many nosy humans loitering around for no good business?

Ok, I am in a fix now. What to do?

Why, choose a national park, but one that does not have too many visitors year-round! Doesn't that solve much of this doubtless very complicated problem?

Oh yeah! Wow, you are so intelligent!

I know! And don't you forget, I am that same, apparently very loathed and despised, part of your brain (which, I must say, looks like a dusty, overturned attic) that still has the power to reason and comprehend. Only, I am on your side now. So, you had better listen to me.

Oh! Er, right... thanks!

No problem! So, getting down to business, how about this one right here... what's it called? Wait, let me look up the database.

What? What database? What are you babbling? Makes no sense to me!

Of course it doesn't, you old ninny! I am that part of your brain which is supposed to make sense of things! I do all the thinking while you dose all day long, arousing yourself only when there's a singularly worthless movie with a lot of brainless romances to watch! And the database is where I store all the information that we gather together, so I can look it up when it's needed.

Oh! Alright alright... have it your way, your imperious majesty! But do all that rummaging fast, won't you?

Don't you tell me to hurry up! What do you think are all these junk piles of useless information that I have to sift through to get down to the real important ones? It's your trashcan of movie trivia! One day, I am going to do a serious purging and... hold on! Here it is!

What is it? What is it?

Lake Clark National Park! But of course... it's one of the least visited ones in the States. This one will serve us perfectly, I believe.

Awesome! Let's study more about it. I am looking it up on Wikipedia.

Wow, you're changing, you are! And not entirely for the worse! I do believe you have my charming company to thank, don't you agree?

And I'm off !

(Alaska on foot)


	2. Chapter 2

A strange encounter

At last! The soothing touch of the fresh breeze rustling through the leaves of the mighty trees, the sweet smell of pine needles in the air, the ceaseless chirping and chattering of birds, and a much awaited escape from the rush and bustle and grime and dust of the city!

I inhaled deeply. The scant sunlight that filtered through the thick foliage overhead dappled the forest floor in a delightful play of brown and green. Mighty pine, fir and spruce trees towered all around, so close that their branches managed to weave a dense canopy of cool green, and their boles of mighty girth were covered in moss. The ground was full of shrubs of different kinds, most unknown to me, and my booted feet scrunched on the fallen pine cones and needles as I trudged up the gradually steepening slope. This boreal forest lies at the foothills of the Alaskan mountains, and my plan was to find a way across to the other side of the forest into a valley, where I would find a shelter for a few days in a forest lodge, and would be able to refill my supplies.

It had not been long since I set foot in the wilderness, but already miles of walking on the woodland terrain, camping under the open sky in the very arms of nature and eating sparingly from my ration of tinned food had started to tell on my usually rotund tummy. I noted with satisfaction how much slimmer and fit I looked, like one who has seen much toil and rough weather.

I probably should spare a few words on this sudden urge to explore the wild and set out on a prolonged adventurous journey that had gripped me. Come to think about it, it wasn't that sudden and unexpected after all. All my life I have harboured a desire to be able to help in the conservation and care of wild animals and their habitats, and here was a perfect chance to get involved on a grass-root level. But there was probably a more compelling but secret reason.

It would be a gross understatement if I say that I am just a fan of the works of J. R. R. Tolkien. More like I was obsessed with them. Most people would simply laugh about this and wave it off as the whim of a still quite immature young adult. Those who have read Tolkien would grab this opportunity to pounce on me and ask whether I have read The Silmarillion or The History of Middle Earth, to test how much knowledge I truly possess. I admit that I haven't read much of his works and have primarily just clung to The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings. I have probably read each of these two gems twenty five odd times, and still can't have enough of it. I am not exaggerating a bit. Sometimes it is puzzling to even me why I would ever bother ... but each time I open the old volumes, the wholesome smell of old yellowing pages flood my nostrils and fill my mind with the overflowing, much cherished memories of those dear old characters I grew up with. My entire childhood was woven around these people, and they are as much a family to me as my parents and my grandma. For Aragorn was the protective and stern yet affectionate and fond big brother that I never had in my real life, and Legolas that incredibly elegant and quick-witted friend who would perhaps connive with me in my little harmless pranks and mischief but would also pull me back from the brink and save me from sticking my nose into troubles. Gimli would be the apparently grumpy and proud uncle who would pretend to scowl and glower at you if you tried to pester him, but it was easy to tell that he was only enjoying himself, and his mouth would crack open in the friendliest of grins ... all you had to do was tickle him with his own beard! Gandalf was like not quite related grandfather, who travelled round the world and only came to visit me for a few days, dropping only mysterious hints about his most recent adventures to torture my curiosity until I begged him and bribed him with pipeweed and candies.

Such was my childhood. And never have I been able to forsake these people who made my life so much brighter, like a glass pail brimming with flowing water that sparkled in the sun. And all my life I have been filled with an inexplicable, idiotic yearning to meet them, as if they were real men and women of flesh and blood. I knew, or rather, that nasty, logical and calculating part of me knew that I was being an oaf, and would often shake her head miserably at how dismal I became musing over the stories of Middle Earth. But no matter how much she screamed reason, the other part of me (who, somehow, I am much more fond of) would always manage to turn a deaf ear. And so I lived on, pretending that all around me these imaginary people exist and live and are only ever visible to me.

It eventually dawned on me that somehow, if I were to live apart from the urbane, dispassionate, and to me, somewhat false, life of the city, and amidst Nature, I would just feel better about all my oddities and insane imagination. No one to mock, nobody to chastise and criticize and raise an eyebrow as if I were a pure lunatic. Granted, the characters I loved so much would never be real and would never be truly a part of my everyday life, but in deciding to live a considerable time of my life out in the wilderness, it seemed I would somehow be able to strive better to connect with them.

I do sound completely out of my mind, don't I? I know... but what can I say? I am writing my diary, and I wouldn't want to lie to it.

Coming back to where I wandered off, I was standing on the edge of a deep ravine that ran directly across my path, almost splitting the forest clean in two. It was very narrow, and I could faintly descry water churning and frothing through the sharp, jagged rocks that lay at the bottom. Hmm, I wondered, peering down at the map in my hands. This was a little weird. As far as I could see, there was no mention of this gorge in the map. Perhaps because it was too small and unimportant to be marked on the map? But the map was detailed enough, and the small rivulets that I had come across so far were all accounted for in it. Does that mean I had mistakenly strayed from the route I was supposed to take?

The moment that thought struck me, fear rose like bile in my throat. Somehow, the idea of getting lost in this endless expanse of wilderness was more scary than being stalked by a predator. Instantly, the trees felt more suffocating, and I craved for an open space where I could see the sun better.

Calm down, you are only going to make it worse by panicking. Ah, my logical side is back! Well, any advice?

Let's see... we could try going back the way we came, but that would mean we would have to go without the chance of filling up our supplies anytime soon, and moreover, if we have indeed taken a wrong turn on the way here, going back won't be easy by following the map, and would likely lead us even more astray. As for the path ahead...

We could try following the gorge. As narrow as it was, jumping over the gaping chasm with my backpack and water-bottle and everything else was quite out of the question. I was not an inherent climber, and from here I really could not fathom how deep the gorge was, so I decided against risking climbing down into it and then back up on the other side. Heights had always managed to freak me out.

May be, if I followed the course of the ravine long enough, I would come to a point where it narrowed enough to enable me to cross. There was nothing for it but to stick to this decision. It was already afternoon, and although I had still a few more hours of daylight left, I did not wish to hike through the dark. So without further ado, I set out.

It had perhaps been an hour when the terrain began to change. The trees seemed to thin out a little, and the underbrush became less tangled and dense. The soil colour lightened considerably to a deep brownish ochre, and the air seemed to move more freely, as if there lay an open space just beyond my eyes could reach.

All of a sudden, the ravine came to an end. It had been steadily growing shallower, and now the little stream that ran through its bed was almost level with the ground I had been walking on. The water was not deep at all, and would barely reach my thighs. It was cool to the touch and bubbling over outcrops of rock, and I had to be careful as I waded through it.

The moment I stepped foot on the other bank, I felt a strange dizziness come over me. It was as if for a moment, my brain threatened to shut down. Knees weak, I sat down immediately on the wet ground, my hands shaking slightly. My head felt heavy and I was tempted to lie down sprawled on the cool grass and close my eyes for a moment. And I would have gladly done so, except...

I heard a low, rumbling growl.

It was right in front of me, and my ears pricked up at once. Instantly, it seemed, my body tensed of its own accord, all traces of weariness and giddiness gone. But before I could marvel at how fast my body reacted to the apprehension of imminent danger, I saw it.

It stepped out from behind one of the largest fir trees I had seen so far, making no noise as it padded on its huge paws. Its grey fur had a curious sheen to it as it was lit up from behind by the golden haze of the afternoon sun. Its huge head lolled a little as its glittering, almost malevolent eyes stared down at me, its huge maw hanging open and slavering.

But it was not just any grey wolf. It was so much, so much bigger than any normal wolf had any right to be. Colossal would perhaps better describe it. Every one of its rippling muscles stood out on its sinewy limbs, and its head was so big it could probably swallow me whole. The cruel tips of its jagged teeth jutted out of its powerful jaws. Therein lies another distinct anomaly, for no wolf I had ever seen before had such a long snout, nor such hideous fangs that would be visible even when its jaws were closed.

Somehow, the beast seemed to radiate evil. And that is plain weird. You see, animals are not like humans. They are not selfish and they do not kill for the mere, vicious joy of torturing and ending the lives of others. They hunt because they need to feed, and the most deadly lion or the most lethal cheetah is perhaps more innocent than a three year old human child.

This beast was different. It was almost diabolical. It had a purpose, like it had a mind that could actually think and scheme and kill ruthlessly for vengeance or for sheer grotesque delight if it meant to. Those eyes belonged to no dumb creature. They had a promise of malice in them.

What was I doing all this time that this hound from hell was glaring down upon me, all the time gloating over its utterly helpless prey? I assure you, I wasn't analyzing whatever I wrote before. Those thoughts came much later (which of course reveals to you that I, miraculous as it may seem, did not die at the hands of this brute, after all). Rather, I was shuffling on my feet, holding out the Swiss army knife that I carried with me, clutching it tightly in front of me in fingers that (to my surprise) barely shook at all.

And all of a sudden, my mind wondered: shouldn't I be paralyzed with terror? How am I even on my feet? How is it even possible that I am thinking to fight this monstrous nightmare? Is this what happens to people when they are faced with the certainty of death and they become desperate to make a last stand?

Inadvertently, a single word came to my mind. "Warg", I thought. Strange! Why did I think that? Granted it felt like this animal was not from the world I knew, but that was merely because I was scared out of my wits, wasn't it? It truly couldn't be an alien creature, right?


	3. Chapter 3

A malice unforeseen

I steadily took a step back. It was surprising that I did not stumble, nor did I have much doubt in my mind that I must make a stand against my sinister and vengeful adversary, for the moment I decided to turn my back and sprint, it would hunt me down in a matter of minutes and tear me to shreds with those hideous bared fangs.

In answer, the creature emitted another short grunt of derisive pleasure from its throat and, taking a step forward, crouched down a little, as if preparing to pounce should I make the slightest of movements. It tilted its head and regarded me with a certain disdain, all the time leering at me. A stench wafted out to meet my nostrils, and despite the enormity of the peril I was in, my nose wrinkled on its own, for it smelled like putrid meat and rotting compost.

As the creature turned its head a little, however, I caught sight of something curious. There was a wound, and a fresh one at that, that marked one side of its throat. An ugly gash that was still weeping blood. Somebody must have struck it there, but who? Or did it get into a fight with another of its own kind and incurred that injury? But even the sight of that not so significant wound gave me some hope... may be the loss of blood would considerably weaken it if I could hold on for a while longer. But in my mind I knew that it was either a head-on fight with this monster, or somehow outrunning it. Neither seemed plausible to lead to a very pleasant outcome for me. And so, I waited, almost breathless, my heart thudding like a drum and blood roaring in my ears, while my arms ached from holding up the knife and clutching it hard for so long.

Suddenly, the creature, which had been so intent on observing me with a malign, baleful pleasure in its eyes, whipped its head to one side and cocked its ears a little, as if listening to some sound that my human ears could not catch. Its eyes were much more alert now, I could see, as if it sensed danger and intrusion in its quiet meditation about my poor fate before it could gobble me up.

This was a diversion, and one that could save my life. If the creature were to get enough distracted or disturbed as to leave me alone or retreat even a little, I could make a run for my life.

Even as this thought flashed through my mind like a lightning bolt, I perceived a small movement to my side through the corner of my eye, and turning a little, I saw (what I can now most certainly assert, but which, back then, sent a surge of relief through my veins) a most curious sight. A man stepped out from behind a very thick tree-trunk, with a very broad two-handed great sword glittering cruelly in his hands.

I would not try to describe him here... this completely unexpected (but very welcome, I daresay) eleventh hour Samaritan. For at that moment, I had not the state of mind to scrutinize his appearance. He appeared like an impossibly bright beacon of hope and life where I was sure a few more minutes of delay would have resulted in my certain death at the hands of the brute who now glared down ominously at this man instead.

I could tell that even the creature understood that such a puny thing as me, armed with nothing more than a Swiss army knife, posed no threat at all. This new opponent, however, was another matter entirely. For looking into his eyes, I saw that he held no fear for this gigantic animal which was currently baring its fangs and sat hunched upon the ground with the posture of a wild cat ready to spring upon its prey. The piercing blue eyes stared steadily and calmly ahead into the cruel, beady black ones of the slobbering, grotesque wolf, as he strode with purpose and strength, the great-sword held ready in front of him with strong, unwavering hands.

With a roar the beast lunged, its body contorting impossibly into a whirl of grey and then flexing of its own in a deadly elegance as it leapt into the air, putting forth all its force, all its rage and cruel hatred as it landed, seemingly right on top of the man. But the man leapt back at the last moment, and almost immediately, the wolf's howl of rage turned into a wail of utter agony as the lethal sword swooped down on it, slicing clean through. An instant later, the severed head rolled away on the ground as the huge body collapsed on the ground with a dull thud.

This whole sequence of actions took less than ten seconds to play out in front of my bewildered, disbelieving eyes. As the wolf fell, the breath whooshed out of my lungs, and only then I realized that I had been holding it for a long time.

The knife clattered to the forest floor from my numb hands as my shoulders relaxed of their own accord, and I immediately felt a great weariness come over me. But instead of allowing myself to slouch down on the ground and relieve myself for a brief while from the nightmare that I just passed through, I forced my leaden feet to take a few steps forward, to check on this stranger who had so surely saved my life.

He had stooped to retrieve his sword which had probably fallen to the ground due to the impact, and now he stood up straight, surveying the dead animal in front of him. And it was this moment that I actually had the first opportunity to observe him.

He was not very tall, but very broad, with shoulders that spoke of massive strength and a very regal air about him as he stood straight as a ramrod. He has unimaginably long hair... a whole mass of raven tresses cascaded down from his bent head, with a few streaks of grey adorning them. His fingers grasped the pommel of the sword which was so long, its tip rested comfortably on the ground even though the hilt reached up to almost his breast. He wore some sort of tight-fitting tunic, and on top of that, a chain-mail ! I blinked twice to make sure I was seeing it right. Indeed, it was chain-mail with closely woven silver rings that jiggled as he moved, and it dangled down to his knees, and his breeched were lost in very high black travel-stained boots. On top of all these fine armoury, he had a very thick and seemingly warm fur cloak draped across his shoulders.

The man looked up slowly from his kill to meet my eyes. And immediately, all the details that had registered in my head about his appearance fell altogether short of the sharpness and keenness of his eyes that almost instantly had me intrigued and fretful at the same time. You see, there are some people, not many, whose eyes seem to give you the impression that you are being X-rayed by them, as if their eyes have the power to shred you of any cover and concealment whatsoever and pry out all the secrets that you ever had hidden up your sleeve. This man's eyes, mind you, were nothing of that sort. These eyes made me uncomfortable, but only for a few moments. These were eyes that not only saw, but perceived and understood, but these eyes did not try to extricate information locked away safely in my mind in some creepy, sinister, and altogether impudent way. They were very keen and penetrating, but they also had a certain calmness and composure about them, and although I could immediately tell that they were guarded and right now full of questions and curiosity, they weren't entirely unfriendly.

He had a moustache and a short, cropped beard, which was black and contrasted well with his fair complexion. His face, however, bore several cuts and bruises, and some of them were quite fresh and oozed blood. His long, straight nose stood out on his face, and he jerked his head a little higher as I finally covered the distance between us slowly and stood (somewhat timidly, I admit) in front of him.

"It is unwise to roam the forests alone and unarmed, especially when it is about to become dark, child", he said, his voice a pleasant, rumbling baritone that immediately sounded sing-song to my ears. But, child? Who's he calling a child? I just completed my doctoral studies, and although I was currently feeling very diminutive and small after having my nerves jangled due to the encounter with the beast, I was ready to bet I did not look any younger than twenty-four. And he, at best, would be fifty? Why the hell was he calling me a child?

I decided it didn't matter. He was my saviour, after all. It was my duty to thank him, and then I would ask him if he knew the way to the forest lodge, after all. I had had enough of adventure for one day. Time to seek out civilization once again and rest a bit in its arms instead.

"You saved my life, Sir. I do not know how to thank you enough."

Goodness, why did my voice sound so small and shaking?

"Then I would be glad if you did not throw it away rashly, child. You should know better than to wander these lands alone. Do you not have an escort with you?"

Um, okay. This was awkward. I stammered a bit, but in the end, I managed to say, "No, I am travelling alone, you see. I thought I knew my way from my map, until I came upon this ravine," and I turned around to point at the ravine, only to find that...

It was gone!

I gasped. It was right here! I frantically looked around me. All I could see were trees, and a leaf-strewn ground of soft soil gently rolling down.

Feeling like a blundering oaf, but realizing the more paralyzing fingers of fear clutching my madly thumping heart, I turned around to face his slightly confused stare and squeaked, "But it was right here! Where did it go?"

"There are no streams or rivers in these parts, child. What are you talking about?" he inquired.

"I am telling you, it was here. I followed its course and came upon this spot where the beast confronted me." I almost shouted, insisting upon my claim. There was no way I could have hallucinated and imagined a whole river. What the hell?

I stomped away from him, to the spot where the ravine should have been. Panic was rising quickly in my heart, fogging my mind and threatening to engulf me. Had I lost my mind? Was this all a dream? Then why the hell did this feel so dreadfully real?

I skipped uncertainly on the spot a bit, kicking aside the heaps of fallen leaves in the hope of finding the lost trail and the ravine, although there was little chance that dead leaves and detritus could be concealing an entire gorge underneath. There was absolutely no sign of it. What was more, the land did not look like what it had before. The soil was much darker instead of the dirty yellow that I distinctly remembered, the trees, although still clearly of the temperate kind, felt a little alien (they certainly weren't pines or firs), and the whole terrain was vastly different from what it should have been. It was much colder here, and I could swear I smelled rain, as if it had rained a little while back, and the moist ground and freshly fallen wet leaves gave off the familiar, pleasantly earthy aroma.

My mind was in a blur. It refused to work. I could see that I was in an entirely different land, possibly a different part of the world. but how could that be? Such phenomena did not occur in real life. I ran a little distance forward, my eyes now darting across the evidently alien landscape, as if somewhere deep down I still hoped I would be able to pick up the trail where I left it off, or else I would wake up from this cruel nightmare and find myself peacefully resting somewhere on the slopes of the Aleutian mountains.

My ears picked up the heavy tread of boots upon the mossy ground. "It's alright, child. You must have lost your way. And no wonder you are frightened. You should be. Come, let's sit on the ground and rest a bit. You have nothing to fear, now that I am here."

I paid no heed to what he said. "I am not going insane. I am not losing my wits. I have to stay calm and keep thinking," I grit my teeth and thought to myself, willing myself to be strong, for if I gave in to fear, I would never find a way out.

I wandered a few more steps forward, and the ground had begun to fall away into a shaded, tree-covered valley below. There was no sound of water down there. And in any case, the ravine was in a pretty rocky bed, whereas the soil here was much softer and clayey.

I would have tripped on a tree root in my haste and tumbled straight down into the vale below had he not stopped me with a hand on my shoulder. "Do you plan to break your neck?" he snapped, "stop running around mindlessly! Did you not listen? You are clearly lost. You must trust me, child. You won't find any ravine here."

"But how could I... I saw it, I swear. And I followed it all the way. How can I get back now?" my voice broke, even though I hadn't intended to sound quite so distressed. Everything that had happened that evening was just too much for me to bear, and as I closed my eyes, unwelcome, hot tears ran down my cheeks of their own accord. I did not even have the strength to life my hands and brush them away.

He noticed that. Without another word, he gripped my shoulders in a gentle but firm grasp and guided me steadily from the edge of the slope, walking beside me with slow steps and taking care so I wouldn't fall. After a while, the cold breeze brushed across my face and I opened my eyes again, surveying him a little from beneath my lashes.

He was striking! There was no denying it. That piece of fact wouldn't have struck me so powerfully at such a moment of loss and helplessness, except that I was trying to study him as much as the surroundings, for both seemed to me to be clues as to where I truly was. And although he had saved me from the wolf, I did not truly know him, and I could not just let my guards down.

We had reached an immense, towering tree of colossal girth, and its roots above the ground formed a dense tangle that could almost be used a seat to rest a while. Gently, he made me sit on it, and sat a little away from me, turning towards me. My head was downcast, and for a long time, I averted his eyes and said nothing. And he did not break the silence. It was as if he waited patiently, as if letting me know he would be right there no matter how long I took to recover.

At last, I abandoned my thoughts of despair and dread and self-pity and looked up. Again, his eyes found mine and held them there for a while. I supposed I had been weeping quietly, for when I spoke, my voice was somewhat hoarse and my nose a little runny.

"Where are we?"

He smiled. For the first time. It was lovely to watch. His lips quirked upward and his eyes crinkled at the corners, and it was a kindly expression as he answered, "We are on the lower slopes of the Lonely Mountain. It is quite close to Erebor, my kingdom, child. Who are you and where do you come from?"

My breath hitched. I stared at him like he were stark mad. What was the fellow saying? Is this some kind of cosplay? Or may be I shall soon discover I am at the butt end of a cruel practical joke?

"Erebor, like, Middle Earth?" I almost laughed in his face, although it wasn't funny anymore. Oh no.

"Yes, child, where else would it be?" he answered calmly, as if we were addressing a mere problem of the weather.

"Okay, you know what? This is definitely not very amusing. Could you please give me an idea of where in Alaska we are?" I almost fumed.

His eyebrows puckered. He looked a trifle affronted at being spoken to like this, but honestly, I couldn't care less. The world could do with less weird dudes like him.

"I am not jesting with you. I speak the truth," he affirmed in clipped tones.

"That we are in an imaginary world named Middle Earth, and close to the mighty dwarf kingdom of Erebor? Are you fucking kidding me?" I yelled.

"Do not speak to me like that," he cut through, his voice rumbling as if the very ground was shaking with thunder.

It was a direct order. And surprisingly, whereas I would almost never pay any heed to an order issued as arrogantly and as authoritatively as that, this however, completely quieted me down. It had a power of its own, a sheer force of will its master wielded, that could strike dumb the most outspoken of rebels upon whom the command fell.

He had not even raised his voice, I realized. His eyes had hardened, and jaws had tightened. That was all the change that my carelessly thrown challenge had brought about in his demeanour, and yet here I was, quaking like a duckling and cowering before that commanding stature. Well, I wasn't exactly cowering, but I was certainly feeling less brave and sure of myself than before. For a while, neither of us spoke. I could feel his burning eyes on my head as I sat like a little child who had been scolded by her parent.

Slowly, and this time, somewhat meekly, I raised my head. "I am sorry," I muttered, "I did not mean to be rude. But these are places I only ever read about in stories, how could they be real? I was in Alaska not an hour ago, hiking, and then that wolf came, and you appeared out of nowhere, and the stream disappeared, and now the whole place seems unfamiliar, and, and..." I hid my face in my hands and groaned, unable to restrain the strangled sob of despair as it escaped me.

I did not know where I was, and I did not care how I arrived here, and I had no idea whether this stranger was a friend or a foe, but it was clear he would be no help in finding a way back, and I... I just wanted to go home. I was tired and my feet were sore and chafed from walking for miles and my head felt heavy and my eyes stung... I just wanted to cuddle up in my bed with my feather pillow and go to sleep.

How long I sat like that, sobs wrecking my body, I did not know. It did not matter, for it was already quite dark, and even if there was a way of figuring out how to go back, it would have to wait until after it was light again. As the last of the teardrops left my eyes and I knew I would not be able to cry anymore, I looked up at him with swollen and puffy eyes.

He still sat there, in that same posture, patient and unfazed, his heavily lidded eyes looking on at my prostrated form with compassion and something that was unsettlingly close to understanding. As if he had been in such pain before, and he silently acknowledged my grief. As my eyes found his, he again smiled a little, this time encouragingly, and said, "It is going to be dark soon, child. There are more of those infernal wargs around. We had better go. You can stay in Erebor for the night. Tomorrow, we shall figure out what we have to do. Fear not. The dwarves shall receive you kindly enough."

Smiling, he stood, and extended his strong hand towards me. I took it, my small hand slipping into his large palm as he completely enveloped it with his fingers. His hand was warm, and comforting, like it was keeping all the evil nightmares at bay. I stood on somewhat shaking knees, and faltered a bit for the first few steps, but his grasp tightened to make sure I wouldn't fall.

And so we set out in the gathering gloom of the evening, walking through the forest until the trees began to thin out after about half an hour of trudging. The woodlands fell away in a gentle slope to reveal a valley below. On the far end of the wide, bowl-shaped vale, the slope became steep once more, and spiked up in a single, impossibly high, solitary peak that stood out in the dark like a finger raised in admonition. The moon was now shining full on the peak, and its rocky face was bleached white in its silver light. And right at the foot of what I could only presume was the Lonely Mountain, still partly obscured in shadow, stood a vast studded door of immense proportions, crafted artfully and set into the mountain side, and lights shone here and there around it.

As my eyes drank in this impossible scene, my companion waited. Presently, I turned towards him, and in a voice that had inadvertently become a whisper of awe, asked him, "May I know who you are, Sir?"

"Prince Thorin Oakenshield of Erebor, my dear child", he smiled.


End file.
